could see nothing, but towards the beach, whence, in forty yards, the
place where Iris probably was would become visible.

At once he saw her, struggling in the grasp of two ferocious-looking
Dyaks, one, by his garments, a person of consequence, the other a
half-naked savage, hideous and repulsive in appearance. Around them
seven men, armed with guns and parangs, were dancing with excitement.

Iris's captors were endeavoring to tie her arms, but she was a strong
and active Englishwoman, with muscles well knit by the constant labor
of recent busy days and a frame developed by years of horse-riding and
tennis-playing. The pair evidently found her a tough handful, and the
inferior Dyak, either to stop her screams--for she was shrieking
"Robert, come to me!" with all her might--or to stifle her into
submission, roughly placed his huge hand over her mouth.

These things the sailor noticed instantly. Some men, brave to rashness,
ready as he to give his life to save her, would have raced madly over
the intervening ground, scarce a furlong, and attempted a heroic combat
of one against nine.

Not so Jenks.

With the methodical exactness of the parade-ground he settled down on
one knee and leveled the rifle. At that range the Lee-Metford bullet
travels practically point-blank. Usually it is deficient in "stopping"
power, but he had provided against this little drawback by notching all
the cartridges in the six rifles after the effective manner devised by
an expert named Thomas Atkins during the Tirah campaign.

None of the Dyaks saw him. All were intent on the sensational prize
they had secured, a young and beautiful white woman so contentedly
roaming about the shores of this Fetish island. With the slow speed
advised by the Roman philosopher, the backsight and foresight of the
Lee-Metford came into line with the breast of the coarse brute
clutching the girl's face.

Then something bit him above the heart and simultaneously tore half of
his back into fragments. He fell, with a queer sob, and the others
turned to face this unexpected danger.

Iris, knowing only that she was free from that hateful grasp, wrenched
herself free from the chief's hold, and ran with all her might along
the beach, to Jenks and safety.

Again, and yet again, the rifle gave its short, sharp snarl, and two
more Dyaks collapsed on the sand. Six were left, their leader being
still unconsciously preserved from death by the figure of the flying
girl.